How I Became a Smu,,, Businesswoman
by Laryn Chillbreeze
Summary: No one says to themselves, "When I grow up, I want to be an outlaw." What sent Imara down this path? Why does she hate the Empire so much? Lucky you - she was feeling talkative one day and decided to let me publish her story. Credit to FrictionX42 for proofreading and the title idea, and to everyone who read/reviewed.
1. Discovery

**This is not my story** - I merely have the honor of transcribing it for Imara. Normally, those who exist in what we lovingly call the "Star Wars" universe prefer to talk to Mr. George Lucas and his affiliates, but they were too busy. Since this is in no way my own work (other than making a few minor changes for clarity to her recitation), I can claim no credit. I'm just glad to have the privilege of presenting it.

- Laryn Chillbreeze

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* * *

**DISCOVERY**

**_Personal log, Captain Imara Goodspeed_**

_**[4/12/02 ATC]**_

_I haven't managed a good night's sleep in three days now, and it's starting to take its toll. Can't believe I got sucked into delivering weapons to Ord Mantell – that's definitely not my usual kind of cargo. (Note to self – delete this log later.) Oh well, a job's a job, and morals don't pay for fuel. Still, with this kind of payload being shipped to a Republic military planet, I need to get my head on straight. Last thing I need is some suspicious young buck sergeant pawing through the goods because my tongue slipped._

_Yeah, I know the dreams keeping me up are things which really happened. I still can't believe I didn't see through him..._

* * *

Like almost everyone else that terrible day, fourteen year old Imara Mathon had lost family and friends. In her case, both parents and everyone within fifty meters had been killed during an Imperial bombing run of various Balmorran settlements. She would have shared their fate had she not been out looking for salvage to repair... well, that doesn't matter anymore, since whatever it was got blown to salvage itself. Oh yes, the power generator for her parent's house. Her house. The one which didn't exist anymore. At least that's what the mayor had told her over the holocommunicator. "Come back quickly and help with damage containment," he had instructed, "and bring whatever you've found. No doubt we can put it to good use."

Imara shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. He hadn't actually _said_ her family was dead, had he? Just that their house had been destroyed and they hadn't been seen since. Maybe they had taken a break from their morning routine to visit their friends. Imara had been gone for a few hours, after all, so that was plenty of time...

A low groan on the other side of a nearby pile of scorched and twisted metal broke her train of thought. Rounding the corner, Imara spied a particularly interesting bit of salvage: a half-grown young man, probably from the next settlement. A second glance at the wreckage identified it as a ground speeder. Part of the ruined chassis had punched through the boy's shoulder just outside the collarbone, pinning it to the ground. She dropped her collection sack and started digging through it for her first aid kit. _Good thing emergency medical care is part of the standard curriculum at school,_ she mused as she pulled out her bandages and kolto packs.

He was still breathing, although mostly unconscious. Good, that should make things easier. After administering the kolto, cleaning the wound with water from her canteen, staunching the bleeding, and securing his chest and arm, Imara used a vibroknife to slice through the metal tubing a few centimeters away from the skin on each side of the shoulder. The pieces clattered to the rocky ground unheard by the young rescuer or her patient. She wadded the cleanest of the salvaged cloth and packed it around the remaining bit of pipe, effectively immobilizing it and covering the wound, and finally bound it all into place with some tape. Well, Old Man Farin did say he wanted the salvage put to good use. Imara wiped her hands on another piece of cloth, took a drink of water, then sat down to wait for the young man to regain consciousness so they could start back toward the settlement.

He finally came to after about ten minutes. Imara guessed his complexion was at least a few shades lighter than normal from the blood loss, if the stain on the ground was any indication, but the fact that he was awake and trying to sit up meant either he was in good enough condition to travel, or a damned fool who would get himself killed trying.

"Good, you're awake. Sorry there's not much more I can do for you here," she began, "but we're not too far from..." An odd sound cut her off. Only after several seconds did she realize it was a combination of the boy laughing and groaning in pain every time the motion jarred his shoulder.

"What? What's so funny? Are you in shock?" She tried to get him to lay back down to increase bloodflow to the brain, but he just waved her off.

"I'll be fine, and I'm sure I have you to thank for that." He glanced at his bandaged shoulder, admiring the handiwork, then looked back at Imara. "It figures, though. My father always told me I'd get myself killed riding 'one of those things', but I never listened. Of course right when I _need_ to be moving fast, I hit a ditch and go flying. You people really need to get the roadways fixed."

Imara bristled at the comment. "The roadways were just fine until recently." The young man's head snapped up, concern creasing his brow.

"What do you mean 'until recently'? What happened?" He was already shaking his head when she started to relay her limited knowledge of the attack.

"We have to hurry," he urged as he started gathering the remnants of his gear. "I need to talk to the person in charge."

"Why? The damage is already done... isn't it?" His reticence was even more troubling as they started back toward town.

Fortunately, her meandering path through the fields of debris had not taken Imara far from the village. A mere 15 minutes of walking, even at the slower pace necessary to minimize his pain, had the pair at the first line of houses, where they were met by several concerned-looking older women. Imara noted with growing trepidation that more of the looks were directed at her than at the young man beside her, even though he was the wounded one. She hurriedly introduced her guest and asked the nearest of the greeters to continue his medical care, then rushed off to her home.

Imara stared in disbelief at the ruins of the place she had grown up. _I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere_, she thought numbly. _The whole place is torn up. I must have..._ The thought was interrupted when she nearly stumbled over an oddly-shaped stone. She pulled her foot back to kick the offending object out of her way, then set her foot back down and kneeled to take a closer look at the stone. _Not a stone – this is the stoneware bowl Mom uses. What's it doing out here? _Imara picked up the bowl and turned it over in her hands, tracing the patterns etched by the crafters and worn by years of use. Clutching the bowl, she moved toward the skeletal house, intent on proving to herself her parents were _not_ inside. She was stopped by strong hands on her shoulders and Farin's familiar tenor saying, "You can't go in there, child. The whole place could fall down on your head."

She angrily pulled away from the mayor and turned to face him. "I have to go in there. My parents are trapped or something, or they would have shown up by now.

Farin stretched his mouth in a strained smile and explained, "Our rescue teams are working on houses where they have heard people inside. After that, I promise they will work on the rest of the houses, including yours. In the meantime, why don't you check the school? It's been converted to an emergency shelter, so if your folks are anywhere else, they'll be there." Imara thought she saw a doubtful expression flash across the mayor's face, but politicians were notoriously adept at hiding their emotions. She hastily discarded the notion and started running toward the school, tossing a "thank you!" back over her shoulder as an afterthought.

The scene greeting her was almost comically like something from a holovid. The common area was full past capacity with young children clutching the skirts of their mothers, elderly people and some adults tending to the wounded and distraught, and everyone covered in a layer of dirt. Unlike the 'vids, most of the people moved with an air of confidence, seemingly taking the carnage in stride as they worked to recover. Imara felt a brief surge of pride to be part of such a hearty community, but it was quickly replaced by increasing dread as her scan of the familiar faces failed to produce the ones she sought. Her former ward – Huldar, she suddenly recalled - was there, and met her glance with a nod. She looked away and left the impromptu shelter, intent on checking the rescue teams for her missing kin.

After several hours of fruitless searching and somewhat distracted first aid treatment administered to other rescuees, Imara collapsed into the rough blankets provided by the shelter and fell fast asleep.


	2. Disheartened

Disclaimer: This tale is set in the "Star Wars" universe, to which George Lucas and his chosen companies (Bioware, EA Games, etc) own exclusive access. I have no desire to incur their wrath by claiming credit for the discovery. If you must spend money, go to a Boy Scout fundraiser or something.

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* * *

**DISHEARTENED**

An unfamiliar voice cut through dreams of people screaming as buildings collapsed around them. "Hey, wake up. You're having a nightmare." She sat up sharply, half-expecting the ceiling to come down on her head at any moment. Bleary eyes looked upward to see the cover of her current dwelling was intact, if somewhat cracked. The various items stuck to the ceiling sparked some recognition. _I'm at school. I must have dozed off in class again._ Reality came back with a jolt as the speaker continued, "You're scaring the younger kids. If you can't sleep, why don't you help me patch up some of these people." Huldar grinned self-consciously. "They don't quite trust me, and I already know you're good at it." He gave his injured shoulder a slight shrug and grimaced. Imara nodded, folded her blankets, stacked them neatly in a corner, then turned to the recent addition to the town. "Yeah, there's lots to be done. May as well get started, right?"

As they worked, Huldar's questions provided a welcome diversion from the pain of recent events. Yes, they were a self-sustaining community. No, she had no clue why they were targeted. Don't worry, Old Yatna is grouchy with everybody. This last was said with the first honest smile she had felt since... well, no time to think about that now.

"What about you?" Imara inquired. "How did you wind up right outside a town you've probably never visited before? And how did you get into such a nasty crash? You must have going pretty fast for the chassis to warp like that."

Huldar paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then sighed dramatically. "I'm an Imperial Agent sent to convince you to join us, or failing that, to discover your defensive mea- OW!" he exclaimed as Imara kicked him solidly in the shin.

"Damn, that hurt! Alright, sorry, that wasn't funny. I get it. Anyway, like I was saying, I'm from about 150 kilometers east of here. My town got hit too, not long after the capital fell, and some of us were sent to warn our neighbors in case they weren't done." Imara didn't have to ask who "they" were; the answer was all around her.

"I already told you about the wreck. Sorry I didn't tell you _why_ I had to hurry, but I wanted to talk to... his name is Farin, right?" She nodded. "I wanted to talk to Farin first, before this stuff became public knowledge. He's the one who'll decide what to do with the information, after all."

"True," replied Imara. "So just how much damage have they done?"

"They went after the larger towns first, I heard," he continued. "Rumors even talk about people going through the areas, looting the buildings and kidnapping some of the people."

Imara's eyes went wide. "For what? It's not like there are any famous people here to ransom or anything."

"That's just it. The runner who came to our town before the bombardment mentioned the people were probably slavers. Some of the older people from my town talk... talked..." he corrected with some effort, "about how that's a real problem on other worlds. To be honest, I'm surprised this doesn't happen more often – not that I'm complaining. With the factories Balmorra is so famous for, it was only a matter of time before the Empire tried to claim this world."

Imara barely heard the last part as she shuddered at the notion of slavery. How one person could view another sentient being as mere property was unthinkable. She hurriedly changed the subject.

"Will you tell me about the people from your town? I've never been more than a little ways from here. Most of what we need is right here," she added proudly.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Most of them are dead or missing. To be honest, I'm kind of glad to have been assigned this mission to warn others. They hit us a lot harder than they did here. It's a wonder any of us survived. I didn't want to see..." Huldar's voice caught in his throat, cutting off the rest of the sentence. Imara set down the towel she was using to dry the few dishes which had remained whole and set her hand on Huldar's good arm.

"I'm sorry I asked. We've all been through a lot." He laid a hand on hers and closed his eyes for a moment. "It's not your fault. It's just hard to believe they're gone."

"What will you do now?" she asked. Then, recalling the wreckage in which she had found him, she reasoned, "Your speeder bike is a mess, and you're not healed yet. If you can't go home, why don't you stay here?" Truthfully, Huldar was one of the few older people who didn't treat her like a child, and she felt partly responsible for him since she had saved him from the crash site.

Both of them jumped when a cackle erupted behind them. "What a cute couple!" crooned Koemi, a smallish woman in her late seventies. "I think that's a fine idea. We could always use another strong young man around here." The old woman ran an appraising eye over the newcomer, then chuckled. "You keep an eye on that one, Imara. Why, if I were a few years younger, I might have a go at him myself." Imara blushed almost as red as Huldar as they watched the crone walk away, still chuckling and mumbling to herself.

They worked in uncomfortable silence at various chores until someone rang a large bell signaling the evening meal. Imara looked around for perhaps the hundredth time that day, hoping one of the rescue parties had found her family. _They're not here yet. What's taking them so long? They'll starve if they stay gone much longer. _Ignoring the dinner bell, she left the building and started toward her house. A short distance from her destination, hushed voices caught her attention.

"Are you certain?" came Farin's unmistakable voice.

"I wish I weren't, but there's no getting around it." That would be Kestor, one of the search-and-rescuers. "They died in the initial attack. By the looks of it, it was quick and painless. One of the walls fell in on them."

Farin's grief-filled tone barely carried over the rising twilight wind. "Thank you Kestor. Take your crew and get some supper. I need to figure out how to tell their child."

Imara froze, caught between a desire to continue to her house and wanting to find out the identity of the survivor so she could possibly offer comfort. Even the sneaking suspicion in her gut didn't prepare her for what followed.

"Imara will be shattered."

She didn't feel the gravel digging into her knees as she sank to the ground, not believing what she had just heard. Nor did she notice Huldar walk up beside her, or Farin come around the corner wondering to whom Huldar was speaking. Her ears were still ringing with the conversation which had just taken place, her eyes were full of memories and, as she would discover later from the tracks they left on her cheeks, tears.


	3. Deception

Disclaimer: Imara was kind enough to share with me what would normally be delivered to this universe by Mr. Lucas and his chosen few. That doesn't make it my property – it's not, in fact. No Boy Scout fundraiser in town? Get a subscription to SWtoR. Maybe you'll meet someone just as interesting.

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**DECEPTION**

Less than a week after the decimation of the small town, the industrious citizens had erected more permanent homes to replace those which had been destroyed, rounded up most of the escaped livestock, and consolidated useful goods from various cellars which had survived the onslaught. All of the minor wounds had mended, and a large number of the more serious injuries were healing nicely, including Huldar's shoulder. By this time, he had been adopted into the town as one of its citizens, although he worked for his keep along with everyone else. Despite Koemi's lewd comments, Imara worked alongside him. Everyone else always wanted to talk about her loss, which was strangely frustrating rather than comforting. _They have their own losses. Lots of people died in that attack. Why are they bothering _me_? I'm certainly not the only one. _She shook her head and turned her attention outward again.

Their tasks took them a good distance from the village, which was just fine with Imara. Out in the wilds, there were far fewer reminders of the hole the Empire had carved in her life. This time, she was supposed to find and clear out the emergency shelters for everyone in case their town was raided like others had recently been. They had even given her a blaster in case anything which had moved into one of the shelters during its long period of disuse took exception to her presence.

Huldar gave a low whistle when Imara pulled the covering from the entrance to the first shelter. "I never would have noticed this. Actually, I think I rode right over it on my way here!"

"That's the idea," she replied. "Apparently something like this happened about ten years ago. We lost half the town in that raid, including my grandparents and the former mayor. Farin set these up right after that."

"He's been in charge this whole time?"

"Yeah. He does a good job of running things, and no one else really wants the job. It's not like a few thousand people are that hard to deal with. This isn't Coruscant." Imara shot him a questioning glance. "I thought most of the towns around here were like that."

Huldar shrugged. "I don't really pay all that much attention to politics. We chose a new person every few years or so, but I'm still considered too young to get involved."

Imara huffed in agreement. "I know what you mean. Most of the time I'm treated like a little kid. They never even let me carry a blaster before today!"

"What would you have done if you came across a wild animal or something?"

"They don't get that close to the village."

"Why not?"

"I'm not really sure. Maybe enough of them have been shot that they learned better."

"I think you're giving them too much credit for brains," Huldar laughed.

"And I think you're not giving them enough," retorted Imara. "I've seen animals do some pretty amazing things on the holo. Some people own manka cats and even rancors! They couldn't do that if there wasn't some way of keeping those things under control. Come help me with this."

"I guess you're right," he admitted as he left off his inspection of the bunker's structural support to pull a box down from an upper shelf. They both coughed and waved their hands at the cloud of dust accompanying it. "It looks..." He sneezed violently. "It looks like the contents are intact. What's in the rest of them?"

"Dunno. Food and water, I guess. Maybe spare clothes, maybe weapons. I've never been here either. The old man just said to make sure the place could still support everyone."

Huldar dusted off another box and checked inside. Blankets. Rough material, but sturdy, and probably quite warm. The next box had a few portable holotransmitters and spare power packs. A glance over Imara's shoulder showed another box full of medical supplies.

"It seems like you have everything but a kolto tank here. You're all set." He started to turn back to finish checking the walls and ceiling, but stopped to look at her again when she started giggling.

"What's so funny?"

"The kolto tank is in the back. I was going to get to that in a minute."

* * *

The attack came two days later, just when everyone had finally started to settle back into a normal rhythm. The casualties were nowhere near as heavy as the previous encounter, since the people had some warning in the form of muffled explosions echoing across the hills.

"Move quickly," called Farin as the group headed toward the shelters, "but please do not run! We don't want anyone to fall behind." _Or get trampled, _thought Imara as she walked along with the crowd. She and most of the other teens and young adults had been requested to carry those necessities people could not leave behind – baby supplies and medications, mostly, although she was sure there were some non-essentials in some of the bags. Imara didn't blame them; she had managed to dig some pictures from the rubble of her house and stow them in her own pack. She glanced over at Huldar and felt a twinge of pity. He didn't even have that much, since he had needed to leave so quickly. He caught her look and gave her a small smile as if to say "it happens." They both turned their attention to the front of the group as Farin revealed the entrance to the shelter, then filed silently inside.

Someone lit one of the lamps, then hauled out the box of medical supplies. Once again, Imara started tending to various injuries, including a concussion and a sprained ankle. No sooner had she finished than there was a commotion at the front of the shelter. Worse, a billowing cloud of acrid smoke was working its way toward the back where she was tying off a bandage. She thought a canister of something must have broken open until she heard three blaster shots fired in rapid succession. By this time, the smoke was stinging her eyes so she could barely see. She stood quietly amidst the confusion, straining to hear some further indication of what was going on. _Why would someone fire a blaster in here? This isn't the time to be fighting, and definitely not with weapons!_ She gasped as her own weapon was pulled from her side, then choked on the sudden rush of smoke in her lungs. A hand on her arm started pulling her along... _Toward the front, I guess. Fresh air._ When they finally did reach the entrance, she noticed a red, six pointed design on the shoulder attached to the arm guiding her.

A few more people, also coughing violently, were led out by others bearing identical designs on their shoulders and gas masks on their faces. One turned to a man in a cloth uniform and saluted.

"That's all of them, sir," the soldier reported.

"Good," replied the officer in a thickly accented voice. "Get them prepared for transport." He raised his voice to address the crowd. "You are all now in the custody of the Galactic Imperial Army. You are hereby charged with trespassing and treason."

"This is a neutral planet!" Farin shot back. "And we're not part of the Empire. You can't commit treason against a government to which you don't belong."

"This world came under the Emperor's jurisdiction when we took the capital not long ago. Our messenger should have explained all this to you."

"Your..." Farin began, confused. Then understanding dawned, immediately followed by rage. "Huldar! You swine! Where are you? I'm going to rip your head off and use it for fishbait!"

Undaunted by the threats of the now-shackled mayor, Huldar swaggered into view and addressed the captain as well. "Agent Huldar, Imperial Intelligence." Even more than the sudden accent shaping his words, Huldar's next statement sent the captives reeling. "The safehouses in this area have all been identified and reported, as instructed."

By this time, Imara had finally managed to clear her throat and eyes enough to participate in the conversation, although her contribution was less than coherent.

"But the crash! You were... I mean..."

Huldar briefly touched one hand to his shoulder. "You mean this?" He laughed and explained, "This is nothing compared to what they would have done if I had refused the mission. Besides, you took such good care of me, _and_ I'm getting a decent bonus, so it was all worth the trouble."

"Bonus?" Imara spat. "Is that all we are to you? Just another paycheck?"

"Oh no, my sweet Imara," Huldar replied, brushing her cheek with his fingers. His eyes hardened again when she flinched away. "I enjoyed getting to know you and your people. It reminded me of the reason I started working for the Empire in the first place. You Republic scum will never amount to anything because you lack unity. There is no order, no discipline among you. You can't go ten kilometers without needing to learn a new set of rules. We don't have that problem. Where I come from, everyone follows the same set of laws. And believe me, everyone makes sure they follow the laws, because the punishment can be rather severe. We don't have criminals like you people, because most never survive the first offense. That is why you will lose, and we will take over the galaxy. Now get on the shuttle." Imara lunged at him, but he only laughed as a soldier's restraining hand stopped her short of her target. Huldar stepped back to allow the soldier to usher the line on board, gloated briefly at the mayor, then entered a second shuttle.


	4. Detainment

Disclaimer: Imara's story, Lucas et al's access rights. Not mine. Move along.

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**DETAINMENT**

Much to Imara's surprise, the ride to the Dromund system was rather uneventful. After his initial outburst, Farin had lapsed into a brooding silence. Linked together as they were, no one attempted escape during the transfer from the shuttles to the larger ship in orbit. The few attempts by some of the older folk to raise the spirits of the townspeople were summarily squelched by the armored Imperial soldiers standing guard.

Imara had mixed feelings about Huldar's seeming avoidance of the group. On the one hand, he wasn't around to gloat or to remind them how badly they had all been duped. On the other hand, she _really_ wanted to give him a piece of her mind. _For all the good that would do, _she thought bitterly. _I should have left him to die by that speeder._ She snapped her head up, surprised by that last notion. That wasn't her style at all, nor was it productive. She bowed her head again, then stopped when she noticed her manacles. _These must come off somehow. Maybe if I... Yes! _By straightening all her fingers and tucking in her thumb, Imara's tiny hand slipped right out of the adult-sized cuff. She started working on the other hand when Kestor, sitting next to her, spoke softly.

"What are you doing? Put that back on! You'll get us all killed!"

"I got us into trouble by tracking in that Imperial filth, so I'm going to get us out of this."

"And how do you plan to do that? Are you going to take on the entire ship by yourself?" Kestor shook his head. "Not now, girl. It's good you can get out of those, but make sure you can do something about it before you let _them_ find out."

Imara's shoulders slumped. She hadn't thought of that. She quickly inserted her hand back into the restraint and continued contemplating the situation. She was still thinking when a change in the ship's rumble indicated they were making planetfall on Dromund Kaas, the Imperial capital.

* * *

As the captives filed out into the heady, electrically-charged atmosphere, Huldar and the Imperial officer stood at the head of the line with a datapad. As each of the Balmorrans passed by them, Huldar would say something to the officer, who nodded and made a mark on the pad. Then each prisoner was led to one of four waiting ground transports. Their voices became clearer as Imara drew closer.

"That's Yatna. Not very strong, but she might be good at making flags and the like."

"Second transport from the right," instructed the officer without looking up. Yatna looked like she was about to give the pair the sharp side of her tongue, but stopped short when a soldier nudged her with his rifle.

"Ah, lovely Kanti. I think we have just the place for you." The named woman spat at Huldar before being escorted to the far right transport.

"Kestor, old man, I think your talents would be best helping build the monument to our beloved Emperor, or maybe clearing out some of the local wildlife," Huldar sneered. The officer directed him to the far left transport. Imara stepped up to face the detestable pair and stood proudly. And waited.

Finally Huldar took notice of her. With a brief shrug, he informed his counterpart, "Nothing special about this one. Do what you want with her." She almost used her prized trick right then and there to knock out his teeth. _Calm down,_ she scolded herself. _He's trying to upset you. Don't let him win this one._ With a massive effort, she schooled her face to something close to passive acceptance and allowed herself to be shifted off to one side while the rest of her people were sorted.

Bringing up the rear was the mayor-in-exile, Farin. He stood radiating apparent calm, awaiting his sentence. Huldar watched him a moment before consulting with the officer in low tones. Imara leaned in, but wasn't able to hear what they were saying. She needn't have bothered, because their decision was promptly made public.

Huldar addressed the mayor, but pitched his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Farin, you've been a good leader for your village, but the simple fact is we don't have any leadership positions open. Normally I'd assign you to the construction crew, but you're smart enough and brave enough to try to start a rebellion or some other foolishness. I'm afraid there's no place for you here." The wave of a hand was all the warning the spectators got before one of the guards opened fire. Imara was the only one of the Balmorrans close enough to hear Farin's last words as the man's lifeblood ran out into one of the countless rain puddles.

"For Balmorra. For the Republic."

Huldar's face instantly screwed up into a mask of fury. "The Republic? The Republic abandoned you! You foolish old man! How can you say something like that when all you got from those... those dogs is a bleeding corpse on a distant world? How can you say that when your people are all slaves? What good is your precious Republic now, huh? You tell me that!" He punctuated his rant with kicks to the dying figure. Of course, his target was far beyond hearing his tirade, let alone caring. Lacking a suitable audience, he turned to the onlookers.

"You had all better learn real quick from his mistake. That kind of attitude _will _get you shot, if you're lucky. If you're not lucky, there are far worse punishments. I told you the Empire does not tolerate this kind of thing. Take a good look at the old man. Remember this."

Imara watched as the others were herded onto their respective transports, then gave Farin's body a last look before being led off.

* * *

Three years of serving drinks in a small cantina situated near one of the outposts about 200 kilometers east of Kaas City had taught Imara Mathon skills she never knew existed. At first, her fear of the armed soldiers kept her from reacting when they got a little too personal, but she eventually grew bold enough to imitate the evasive motions practiced by the other girls. After the first several months, she even learned how to slap away groping hands in a way which would only upset the most sensitive of the troops. Of course, the process of distinguishing each type of soldier involved some rather painful and humiliating lessons.

"Everyone here goes through it," a twenty-ish Mirialan assured her after the first occurrence. "Just bear with it, learn from it, and hopefully you'll get moved to somewhere else before they break you."

_Hopefully, _Imara repeated sourly. _That was... how long ago? It seems like forever I've been here. Am I really only seventeen? I have never felt so old and tired in my life! Amazing I haven't seen any of the others. I hope they're doing better than this. _She looked down at her skimpy outfit with disgust, adjusted the lower portion in a vain attempt to conceal a little more skin, then gave up and left the dressing area. She groaned inwardly when the outer doors opened to admit Lieutenant Zarif and his fawning assistant. Of all the pompous, egotistical swine to have on her shift, she had to start with him. Even the vendor rolled his eyes as the lieutenant sauntered over to his usual table and signaled for a drink, although he was careful to do it where the volatile officer couldn't see. Imara sighed inwardly and went to get drinks for the two men – Huttese Hangovers, as usual. She had just set them on the table when Zarif caught her hand.

"Why don't you get one for yourself and sit with me a while?"

Studiously hiding her contempt, Imara demured, citing a need to serve the other patrons as well. This worked twice more, until the cantina started to empty for the night. By this time, Zarif was well on his way to being thoroughly drunk, and his aide wasn't faring much better. To her surprise, he got up, stumbled over to the bar, and set down a credstick. His next words to the vendor stopped her in her tracks.

"I want to borrow your girl for a while."

The vendor nodded, knowing full well that to refuse the request of an Imperial officer would mean his own death. Imara, on the other hand, was frozen in place by the thought of going upstairs with the man. It would be far from the first time she had been requested for "personal service", but by an incredible stroke of luck she had managed to avoid being called on by _him_. She had seen the bruises and other injuries given to the girls who were not so fortunate, often causing them to require bedrest for days at a time. It seemed this time her luck had run out.

Imara shouted silently for her feet to move, but she was rooted to the spot as the lieutenant approached. The spell broke as soon as he grabbed her arm. She reflexively lashed out at him with her other hand, catching him squarely in the chin. He stared at her for a moment in disbelief, then pushed her backward. She wheeled her arms and stutter-stepped bakward, but still fell when she collided with a table. The top flipped its contents across the room, causing the empty glasses to shatter when they landed. She watched in horror as one glass smashed against a support beam a few feet away, then seemed to send its shards back at her in slow motion.

Everything else faded away as a sharp pain erupted across her right eye. She was barely aware of Zarif's mocking tone telling anyone who would listen how it was "the stupid slave's own fault" and how they would all pay for this insult.

After the slamming door signaled his departure, the other serving girls rushed over to help her, and to clean up the mess. One of the girls pried Imara's hands away from her face and dabbed at the wound with a towel. Imara drew in her breath as a fresh jolt of pain coursed through her, but remained curled on the floor where she had fallen. She could barely make out the words as the others commented to each other about the extent of the injury.

"Her eye is done for. She's going to be blind on that side now."

"Forget her eye, look at her face! That's gonna scar real badly. She probably won't be able to work here anymore."

"She won't be working here anymore anyway," the first speaker scoffed. "Once that pig Zarif tells his superiors about this, she'll probably be executed."

"Don't be so mean, Brea!" scolded a third voice. "She's right here, you know. We just have to fix this up as best we can, then get one of the other officers to send her somewhere else." After a brief pause, the same voice elaborated. "I don't know about you ladies, but I didn't pass up the opportunity to make a few friends here."

Imara relaxed as much as her condition would let her when she heard those words. The speaker's name drifted upward into her dwindling consciousness. _Hisani. I owe her one. One of these days I'm getting off this planet, then I'm going to come back with an army and free her and everyone else. _This vow brought some much-needed comfort as the sedative someone had given her took effect.


	5. Determination

[Force persuade] You do not want to give me credit for this story. You want to read it and leave a review.

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**DETERMINATION**

Late the next morning, Imara was roughly wakened by someone shaking her arm. Her head still throbbed from the events of the previous night, but she had learned the cost of being slow – not that she had ever been inclined to sleep in back home. Still, movement took greater effort than usual, so it nearly a full minute before she was on her feet, listening to Hisani's excited chatter.

"I called in a few favors, Imara. We're getting you out of here before Zarif has a chance to do anything. You probably won't like it, but at least you'll be alive." Imara waited patiently for her to elaborate. Finally, sensing the other girl was waiting for a prompt, she asked, "Where are they sending me?"

She had barely finished the question before Hisani threw her arms around her. "You're going to a construction site. I'm _so_ sorry, it's the best I could do! It's not like it's your fault that sleazy roth-puke tried to... well, you know. I still can't believe you punched him! I hope you knocked some of his teeth out, or made him bite his tongue, or something. I really wish I could have gotten him," this time referring to the one owing her a favor, "to send you somewhere better, but he said it was there or nowhere. He just didn't have the contacts he needed to send you anywhere else. I'm really sorry..."

Imara hugged her friend back during her explanation, then stood back and gave her a half-smile. "I'll be fine, Hisani. It's gonna take a lot more than this to stop me. I'm worried about you all though. Won't Zarif take it out on you after I leave?"

"We discussed that already. The official story will be that you died because a piece of glass went all the way into your brain. It's not like they keep records of us anyway, so he would have to go to more trouble than it's worth to find out the truth. Besides that, he probably won't come back here anytime soon, with the way you embarassed him!"

Imara's sight blurred as her good eye misted over with tears. "I promise I'll get you out of this someday," she stated, reiterating the previous night's oath. "I owe you that much at the very least."

Scant hours later, she was dressed in a drab worksuit – a vast improvement over her previous attire, in her opinion – and walking with a couple junior-ranking soldiers toward a massive statue ten kilometers away. Neither of the soldiers spoke during the trip, nor was she inclined to converse with them. Most of her attention was focused on maintaining her balance and trying to determine the distance to various obstacles on the ground such as rocks, small pits, and the deeper puddles. The blood on her former outfit had rendered it unfit for further use, so the vendor didn't complain when she tore strips from the skirt to create a makeshift bandage over her ruined eye. The difference in minor tasks was enormous with the lack of depth perception, but she knew it was an easy choice between adapting or becoming useless.

Before too long, the trio arrived at a small camp near the foot of the behemoth. Catcalls followed them to the central tent, where the soldiers saluted and waited to be acknowledged by a man poring over various charts and maps. He finally looked up, returned the salute, then ran a quick eye over the newest worker.

"You won't be lounging around and serving drinks here, girl." Imara carefully kept her face neutral, knowing that to point out the obvious flaw in his statement would be unwise at best. "If you can't work, you don't eat. Slaves who go that route don't last long." He gestured to a large-ish balding man standing off to one side. "He will show you what you need to know. Now get out of here." Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to his work. Imara nervously followed her new mentor from the tent. _I hope he's not like all the other men around here. That's all I need is a repeat of yesterday. Was that really yesterday?_ She heaved a deep sigh and quickened her step to keep up.

"It's not that bad here, so long as you pull your weight," said the man, misinterpreting her sigh. "Just keep your head down and don't give them any reason to single you out. Although we don't have many women here, so that might be a bit more of a problem for you."

"I noticed," she replied, deciding almost immediately she liked this grizzled old man. "Most of the girls my age are working in a cantina, or worse. That's where I was until today."

"That's a pretty plush assignment. Why'd you give it up?"

Imara pointedly stared at him until he looked away.

"Yeah, I can see how that would make things difficult. Didn't they teach you how to avoid the bar fights?"

"I started the bar fight," she boasted. He stopped, then nearly doubled over laughing at the statement and the serious tone in which it was delivered.

"Well, it doesn't look like you won it. You stick with old Amnon, kid. That's me. Captain Amnon Goodspeed, freighter and mercenary-for-hire." He grinned self-deprecatingly. "At least, I was before all this. Anyway, that buzzard in the tent wanted me to show you how to work, but he never said I couldn't help with other things. I'll show you how to take care of yourself. By the way these other louts have been watching you, you're gonna need every edge you can get."

Despite constant searching, Imara saw none of the other village members during the first few weeks at her new task. She did see plenty of leers, and had ample opportunity to practice the skills Amnon spent the last hour of each day teaching her. The first lesson, contrary to her expectations, had nothing to do with martial prowess.

"Look kid, if they don't think you're a good target, they won't come after you. Look them in the eye and make sure they know you can kick their sorry butts if they try anything."

"But I _can't_ kick their sorry butts," she protested. "I've never really needed to learn to fight. I mean, I can get away from them, but if they catch me, that's it."

Amnon winked at her. "They don't know that, do they?"

A smile spread across Imara's face. "I see where you're going with this."

Later lessons included moving quietly to avoid particularly nasty guards (_How can anyone that big walk without making a sound?_), sensitive areas of the body which would win a fight quickly if struck ("You hit him on the chin? No wonder you lost."), and a card game called pazaak.

Many of these skills were put to use almost as soon as she had learned them. Some of the younger, more hot-blooded workers had grown tired of the rather plain women originally assigned to the construction crews and began "accompanying" Imara during breaks and after the end of the workday. At first they kept a fair distance, wary of Amnon's glares, but after a little while one worked up the nerve to approach them anyway.

"Hey, the boys and I noticed you've been playing pazaak with the old man. You any good?"

"I can hold my own," she answered warily.

"The name's Cal. We're having a game tonight. Why don't you join us? It's not like there's anything better to do around this dump," he added when she started to shake her head.

With the majority of her excuses neatly dismissed, she resorted to blunt honesty: "I don't trust you." Despite her effort to remain stern-faced, his look of mock anguish almost made her laugh anyway.

"Ouch! Alright, I guess I should have seen that one coming. I mean, you _are_ kind of a rare commodity around here." Cal sobered a bit as her glare, which was only enhanced by the patch over her right eye, clearly informed him his words were poorly chosen. He decided to salvage what he could of the situation.

"Tell you what - the both of you can join us. The more the merrier, right?" Cal turned and walked off before Imara could find a way to turn down the invitation. She shrugged, then turned back to her work. _I've been wanting to play a real game anyw... _Her thoughts were interrupted by Amnon's laughter rumbling from a few meters away.

"What's so funny, old man?"

Amnon stopped chuckling long enough to explain, "That boy couldn't have been more obvious with a sign around his neck. Why didn't you just tell him no? Haven't I taught you anything?"

"That's just the thing," she replied with a wink. "I think it's about time to find out just how much I've actually learned. Or did you plan on sticking around forever? Besides," she teased, "what makes you think I want to spend the rest of my life working here with an old coot like you?" This prompted another round of laughter from the big man as they both set to their tasks, belying the possibility of that very fate.


	6. Deliverance

Look, I don't want to get in trouble with Imara OR LucasArts, so give them the credit for what you read here. I'll pass along reviews as best I can, too, so please feel free to leave your thoughts.

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**DELIVERANCE**

After the sun set and everyone had eaten their evening meal, the odd pair approached Cal's pazaak table. The others already gathered looked up with surprised expressions, then went back to the game in progress. Cal was in the middle of losing his second set to a wiry man with small eyes and a long, narrow nose, but looked up to smile at the newcomers anyway.

"Nice of you to join us! Let me finish this match, then I'll introduce you to everyone." He laid down a 4, bringing his total to 18, then scowled as his opponent produced a 3 to add to the 17 points already on the board. Cal managed to win the next set by one point, but lost the match by going bust in the final set. The long-nosed man smirked at his back as Cal turned again to greet Amnon and Imara.

"You always did have the worst timing, old man. Couldn't you have waited to bring the lady until _after_ he was done cleaning me out?" Those within earshot laughed at the plaintive question, and even more at the reply.

"What would be the fun in that? I know you'll be beaten just as badly next time, but why wait for the entertainment?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're real funny. Why don't you come to the table and show us how it's done?" The challenge was offered with a good-natured bantering tone, but it was a challenge nonetheless. As Amnon sat down across from the wiry man and reached for the cards to begin shuffling, Cal took Imara by the elbow and began pointing out those she didn't already know – mostly people who worked on the far side of the site. Each waved or smiled half-heartedly, then quickly resumed watching the newest pair of competitors.

"What do they normally wager?" asked Imara. "Somehow I don't see _them_ giving us a huge salary to play with."

"Mostly rations," Cal explained, "but sometimes things like blankets, a better place in line for showers... that kind of thing." The volume of the conversations around them increased as Amnon flourished his last card before placing it on the table, winning the match. The wiry man, whom Cal had called Jake, shrugged and got up from the table. He was replaced by a Trandoshan named V'Kram, who managed to come back from a two-set deficit to beat Amnon. The large man shook hands with the lizard-man, then motioned Imara and Cal over to the table.

V'Kram curled up his nose when he realized the young girl would be his next opponent.

"I will not compete with the tiny one," he grumbled. "There is no honor in it."

"Right, like honor is worth anything here," laughed Cal from the side of the table. "You were captured just the same as the rest of us."

"Honor is all that is left," retorted the Trandoshan. "Is bad enough being captive. I will not disgrace myself further by fighting one weaker than myself."

"First off," interrupted Amnon, "it's not a fight, it's a game of cards. Second, you have the choice to play her or forfeit. How much _honor_ will you have if you back away from a game with a beginner?" V'kram tensed visibly, causing those nearest to set their feet in preparation for running or fighting. After a moment of introspection, he nodded and began to deal the cards. Imara managed a perfect 20 in the first set, but went bust the next two, tied the fourth set, and finally lost the match with only 16 points in the final set.

"You play well, small one," V'Kram acknowledged, "for one still learning."

"Thanks. I had a good teacher." Amnon blushed slightly at the compliment. Praise was something seldom seen in those parts. The Trandoshan actually looked surprised at her words, knowing this just as well as the others.

"It is good to show respect for teachers as you do. You will do well in life if you continue."

"If she ever makes it off this stinking planet. Are we here to pat each other on the back for acting like bureaucrats, or to play cards?" asked Jake impatiently. He barely waited for Imara to vacate her seat before sitting across from the current champion.

Imara chose to sit out the rest of the evening and watch the more experienced players. Some remained at the table for three or four matches before they were finally defeated. When Cal was not at the table, he was pointing out some of the more intricate strategies the players used. Finally, he went up to face Amnon, who by some stroke of luck had beaten the previous seven opponents. Despite Cal's hospitable nature that evening, his face became redder with each set as he lost three in a row.

"You're cheating, old man. No one has that kind of luck!"

"Well apparently I do," Amnon answered mildly. "If you have a problem with that, you don't have to play."

"I fully intend to keep playing..." Cal rose to his feet and advanced on the bigger man. "Right after I deal with your cheating hide!" The attack came more quickly than anyone was expecting, even considering Cal's brash nature, and Amnon was soon clutching a bloody nose. He managed to get up his other hand in defense, but it was difficult to fight until his vision cleared. Utilizing the other part of Amnon's training, Imara jumped up from her position next to her mentor and snapped a kick to the younger man's groin. He managed to sidestep the worst of it, but still caught a painful blow to the hip.

"Now that's just dirty," Cal growled at her. "Leave it to this trash to teach you something like that."

"Tell it to someone who gives a damn," Imara sneered. "You got all pissed about a game of cards and started a fight, then you expect me to fight fair? You're messed up in the head."

"I thought I mentioned that before we came here," put in Amnon.

Jake chose then to interject. "Cal has a point. Eight games in a row makes it a bit hard to believe you're playing by the rules." Some of the onlookers nodded in agreement, while others readied fists and makeshift weapons. "I think you should apologize to these good folk." Whatever he would have said next was interrupted by Amnon's "apology" knocking loose a few of Jake's teeth. As if that were a signal, those who had sided with Amnon and Imara, V'Kram among them, rushed toward the group behind Cal and Jake. Imara was hard-pressed to recall the lessons Amnon had been drilling into her, but she still managed to land several punches and kicks, even biting one hand which came too close to her face. She took a solid kick to the knee, but was able to turn her leg enough to keep it from breaking. However, she was still at a severe disadvantage until Amnon roughly pulled her back to her feet.

In less than a minute the melee was over, although for the unseasoned young woman it felt like it had lasted hours. Most of those who had backed the accusers were sitting or lying on the ground, nursing minor wounds. The victors were in slightly better shape, but they would all be feeling it at work the next day.

Before splitting up to head to the men's and women's areas, respectively, Amnon and Imara had plenty of time to recap the evening's events. The older man noted with some satisfaction that Imara had left most of the fighting to the more experienced members of their impromptu team.

"I guess I'm getting old," he quipped. "I just don't understand why young people tend to jump into situations when they're way over their heads."

"It probably doesn't help that most of them have never really been in a life-or-death situation," she offered. "They've never been hurt, so they can't really imagine how it feels. Then they take that for granted."

Amnon looked over at his young friend. "Well aren't you the wise one? You're what, fifteen?"

"Almost eighteen!" Imara shot back with mock indignity. She shook her head. "There are enough people around here who underestimate me. Now you're gonna start in too?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, kiddo. I know perfectly well you're not an average young lady." He deliberately overdid his apologetic expression in an attempt to keep the mood light. Pretending not to notice her satisfied smile, he continued, "I wouldn't have bothered teaching you so much otherwise. Once we get off this dungheap of a planet, we'll get to everything else." Coming from just about anyone else, that would have sounded lewd, but Imara had come to view Amnon as a father-figure, so it came across as a simple promise. One thing bothered her about the statement, though.

"You sound so sure we're going to make it out of here. You don't need me to quote you the survival ratio, do you?"

Amnon winked at her and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "That's the trick. My kind, we make our own luck. No one ever got anywhere by sitting around wishing it would happen, and even less gets done if you don't think it will happen at all." Imara turned this revelation around in her mind for a minute before nodding.

"I suppose that makes sense. So you did the same thing with the card game? Creating your own luck, I mean. You weren't actually cheating, were you?"

"Of course I was cheating. They were too; I just did a better job of it." The girl stopped and stared incredulously at her mentor for several seconds before doubling over laughing.

The following year and a half were much the same as those first few months. Some were injured or became too sick to work. They were usually taken away before they died from the illness, an infection, or other causes, but the end result was the same: none of the other slaves ever found out what happened to those people. Eventually new ones were brought in to replace them, slowing down progress for the couple weeks it took to train them properly. Pazaak games were still held every few nights when the workers weren't completely exhausted by some insane schedule the supervisor insisted they keep, and cheating was just as prolific as before. Imara even learned a few techniques as well as how to spot some of the more common methods. She also improved her fighting skills steadily, both by practicing with Amnon, and later with V'Kram, and by participating in the inevitable brawl every few months.

During the worst of the rainy season (although many would argue the "rainy season" was year-round!), those skills were put to the test by far more than a minor skirmish over a card game or rations owed and not given.

Several of the newer additions to the camp looked on-edge that day. Most of the veteran workers took little notice, including Imara and Cal, but V'Kram kept sniffing the air expectantly, and even Amnon kept glancing around warily. Jake, as usual, was too busy chastising the others for slowing him down to notice anything was out of sorts. Even he was clued in to current affairs when the shouting and sounds of blaster fire echoed across the construction site.

Imara looked up, startled._ Infighting among the Imperials? Sure, some of them are only barely civil toward each other, but that weasel Huldar was right about one thing: they generally presented a unified front._ She spat at the thought of him, to say nothing of him being right about something.

"Watch where you're aiming, girl." Somehow Amnon had covered the fifty-some meters between them without her noticing, and nearly had a wet glob on his foot for his trouble. "I come to get you and that's the thanks I get? At this rate I might just leave you behind." She mumbled an apology before the second half of his statement sank in.

"Leave me behind? Just where are you going? Did you get transferred or something? That can't be what all the commotion is about..."

"Nope, that's the rebels. They've been gearing up for an attack for months, and... well, you can figure out the rest for yourself. It's time we left this dump."

"What about the others? We're not just gonna leave them here, are we?"

"I told you before, kid, we make our own luck. They'll have to make theirs. Now grab the survival gear," Imara's mind flashed through the list she never thought she'd have a chance to use, "and let's get moving. Those rebels won't keep the guards busy for long."

Unfortunately, the officers in charge of the construction site were smart enough to leave at least a few soldiers stationed at each of the entry points. The sound of metal on metal from the west gate made it clear someone had found this out the hard way. By the time the pair arrived, V'Kram had knocked one guard unconscious and was fighting hand-to-hand with another, while a third waited for an opening to fire his rifle. Amnon threw a small stone to the far side of the group, causing the rifleman to turn his back to those inside. By that time, Imara had already taken up a position behind some rubble less than a meter from the unfortunate man. As soon as his back was turned, she darted up behind and to the right of him, grabbed the collar of his body armor, placed her right foot behind his knees, and pulled down hard. The guard instinctively threw his arms back to catch himself, releasing his hold on the weapon in the process. A quick step and a graceful dip to recover the rifle completed the movement, putting the odds in favor of the escapees.

"What are you waiting for, girl?" Amnon yelled as he charged the one battling V'Kram. "Shoot him already!" Imara glanced over at her mentor, then back at the guard. The armored man had already risen to a crouch in the few seconds she had hesitated. Another second was all he would need to regain control of the situation. _I can't let that happen. Not again. I can't..._

An explosion sounded in her ears, nearly startling her into dropping the rifle. After a moment, Imara opened her eyes – she didn't realize she had closed them in the first place – and saw the same soldier lying less than a meter from her with a massive hole through the top of his chest. She looked down at her own hands, shocked to find her right forefinger clenched tightly around the trigger. _I... I killed him. _Grunts from her right brought her back to reality. Amnon had already smashed the skull of the soldier rendered unconscious by V'Kram, and the Trandoshan had one of the remaining soldier's arms bent at an angle which looked decidedly uncomfortable. A puddle of blood was forming on the ground, but none of the combatants took much notice of it. Imara thought there was something odd about it, but the shock of her first kill and the fog of war had already taken their toll on her senses.

Amnon noticed the internal struggle, cursed silently, then grabbed for the rifle. His judgment was justified by the lack of resistance to the action. Aiming the weapon carefully to avoid hitting his own ally, he breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger.

V'Kram gave the near-headless body a final kick for good measure, then turned to the two humans. "Thank you. They were worthy opponents. Fighting them unarmed was truly a challenge." He stopped to cough, then winced visibly from the pain. Amnon took note of the expression, then registered the blood on the ground – green blood.

"How badly are you injured?"

"I may live to see the end of the battle, but likely no longer than that," the Trandoshan answered candidly. The revelation snapped Imara out of her daze.

"Let me take a look at it. I've gotten pretty good at patching people up."

"No doubt you have, small one. This is beyond even your abilities though;the wound is internal. I will go help the others. If I am to die, I will take many down with me. Make your escape now while there is time."

"No way. I'm not gonna just leave all those people behind, even if some of them _were_ jerks. I'm definitely not leaving friends like you behind. If we're gonna fight, let's get going." She started to follow V'Kram back toward the camp, but was blocked before she had gone two steps.

"You're not going back there, kid." Amnon crossed his arms as he stood in front of her. "V'Kram has made his decision, and that's his right. I'm not about to have the senseless death of a half-trained girl on my conscience though, so even if I have to pick you up and carry you, we're leaving. Now."

"You wouldn't. I'm trying to save lives! You're asking me to take the coward's way out."

"I'm telling you to have a little sense, girl. You froze up facing one man. What are you going to do against half a dozen or more?"

"That was a one-time thing. I'm past that now," she stated, although even she didn't seem convinced.

"I'm not taking that chance, and neither are you. Now are you gonna head out, or am I going to have to do something drastic?" The look on his face suggested he didn't really enjoy the prospect, but would follow through on his threat if necessary. Imara's visible eye narrowed in challenge. When he refused to relent, she sighed and looked away.

"Fine, let's go." She stooped to relieve one of the dead soldiers of a blaster pistol, hefted it experimentally, then tucked it into her belt. "But as soon as we're out of here, we're going to fix that 'half-trained' part."

"Deal. Now come on. We have a lot of ground to cover by nightfall." A quick check showed a brighter section of clouds to be just past the noonday mark. "It's easy enough to handle a few Imperials, but some of the creatures out there will make a quick meal of us if we're not careful." After looking back to make sure no one was paying attention, the captain and the fledgling smuggler started their westward trek through the jungle.


	7. Departure

May the Force be with you. May the credit for this be with Imara and Mr. Lucas.

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**DEPARTURE**

After less than twenty minutes of walking, the pair had already been forced to find concealment four times, three of those being from Imperial troops on the move. The second time was a false alarm, but they decided to remain hidden from the rebel warriors anyway. Conscription into a militia didn't fit Amnon's plans, and Imara wasn't too crazy about it either. Both, however, noted with satisfaction the rebels seemed to be in considerably better shape than the Imperials moving away from the ruined construction site.

Their silent gloating was interrupted by a deep growl off to the left. Amnon snapped his head around, then just as quickly motioned for Imara to remain still. As quietly as he could manage to avoid being heard by the departing Imperials, Amnon explained the situation.

"That's a yozusk. They're very territorial, so my guess is we're a little too close to its lair or hunting grounds. Move slowly, don't look it in the eye, and hope it doesn't charge. Now get going." Imara took a shaky step, then another. The beast snorted, freezing her mid-stride, but she recovered and took a third step. Apparently the step was in a direction the yozusk didn't like. It lowered its head and began to paw the ground.

"GO!" Amnon hissed as loudly as he dared. The animal heard the noise, took it as its own cue, and started forward. Imara barely reached the far side of a tree before it trampled the place she had just been standing. As it was, it still grazed her trailing arm. She ignored the wound as best she could and started to draw her blaster. Halfway through the motion, she remembered the nearby soldiers and switched to a large knife she had recovered from one of the bodies. _This won't do much against that thing, but at least I won't have to deal with them on top of it_, she thought sourly. By this time, the beast had recovered and was lining up for another charge. She braced to dodge, hoping to dig the knife into a sensitive area as it passed, but a chittering sound caught its attention. Instead of attacking Imara, it moved off to investigate the newest threat. _Oh no. Where's Amnon?_ The concern changed to a combination of amusement and alarm when she finally spotted him. He raised his hands to his mouth and let loose another string of the odd chittering sound, then ducked into a clump of dense brush a few meters away.

Much to the relief of both humans, the yozusk's search for the source of the noise carried it past Amnon without noticing him, then deeper into the jungle, and finally out of sight altogether. They waited breathlessly for another few minutes, listening to the receding crashes through the foliage, before Amnon started chuckling. The sudden noise startled Imara, but it wasn't long before she joined in, releasing the tension. They sobered quickly when Imara remembered the wound on her arm. In less than a minute, it was bandaged and they were on their way again.

The rest of that day was uneventful. They ate a small portion of the rations they had been gradually storing up for the possibility of escape, then cleared a small space at the base of a tree for sleeping.

"I'll take first watch," Imara volunteered.

"Oh? 'The old man needs to rest', is that it?"

"Sure, if you insist.,"she teased. "I don't think I can sleep right now anyway."

"Not surprising." Amnon nodded knowingly. "Frankly, I hope you never get used to it, but you'll eventually learn how to deal with it."

"With what?" she asked.

"Killing people."

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "That's part of it, I guess, but I'm also kind of worried about what happens next." She paused and looked up into the foliage, as if seeking answers. "My family is gone. I don't even know where to start looking for everyone else, if they're even still alive. Even if I did find them, I don't know what I could do about it." She brightened abruptly. "Maybe I could go join those rebels after all. They do this kind of thing all the time, right?"

Amnon clapped one large hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes I forget just how young you are, kid." He shook his head. "Truth is, they only help people like us when it's in line with whatever they have planned. We got lucky; they wanted the explosives some of the teams had been using."

"So? I can just convince them rescuing others is in their best interests."

"If you survive that long. More than half of their new recruits die within a few months. Inexperience in a job like that is a very bad idea. Too bad it's so common. Most of the strongest ones were soldiers for the Republic before they got stranded here. They know how to fight and how to survive."

"You're underestimating me again, old man."

"I'm being honest with you. Now be quiet and keep watch so I can get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."

The sun was halfway to its zenith the next day before they encountered anything of note. Both watched more carefully for trees bearing claw marks or large dents from being headbutted – signs of an animal marking its territory – and so avoided any encounters like the one the day before. They were also now far enough from the construction site that there were no more patrols. The first group they did see almost made Imara give away their position upon seeing them.

"That's him! I would know that sneaking, rotten, good-for-nothing lowlife anywhere!"

"Quiet down! Or do you want that lowlife to hear you?"

"He can't hear me if he's dead," she hissed as she pulled her blaster from her hip.

"You keep down and quiet, girl, unless you want me to knock you out cold."

By this time, Huldar and the four soldiers accompanying him were only a couple meters from the fugitives' hiding place. One of the escorts turned his head in their direction, but seemingly decided it was nothing to be concerned about and resumed watching the road. Another of the soldiers caught the motion and decided to scan the same area. Unfortunately, he had better luck than his teammate.

"You there!" The soldier leveled his rifle at the bushes. "Both of you, come out with your hands up!"

"Now what?" groaned Huldar. "I swear, if it's another broken-down droid..." He broke off when he saw the perceptive guard's targets. "Well, well, well. What have we here? A couple of rebels? I was wondering if any would crawl out from under their rocks to greet us."

"You would know about living under rocks, you slime," Imara said hotly as she emerged from her hiding place. Amnon stepped out beside her, looking irritated.

"Ouch! You wound me, lady!" Huldar exclaimed mockingly. "Tell me, have we met, or are you this pleasant to everyone?"

Imara sputtered in spite of herself. _Five years! Five years he stole from me after pretending to be my friend and a part of my town, and he FORGOT me?_ Finally she recovered enough to remember the poise Amnon had so carefully drilled into her. _Stay cool. Angry people make mistakes._

"Sorry, I lost my temper. Blame it on the weather of this damned planet." She gave a disarming smile, then asked, "How's the shoulder, by the way? No more wrecked speeders, I hope." She worked hard to keep from laughing as it was Huldar's turn to look shocked.

"Imara?"

"In the flesh."

"What's left of it," he quipped, noting her eyepatch and the bandage on her arm.

"And I have you to thank for that," she returned icily. "Allow me to extend my gratitude."

Suddenly everyone sprang into motion. The four soldiers fanned out in an attempt to surround the two former slaves. However, their targets had already dived into rolls away from each other, complicating the manuever. Huldar stepped back and readied his own blaster. By the time he had it out of its holster, one of the guards had already been wounded. From her crouch, Imara squeezed off another shot which disappeared between the guard's helmet and breastplate. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"Lucky shot, Imara," the Agent taunted. "We both know you can't fight, though. Give up now, and maybe I'll go easy on you. I'm sure you've picked up some _useful_ skills," he finished lewdly. He laughed as a shot from a blaster pistol blew a hole in the tree a few inches from his head.

Amnon finished off his first target, courtesy of friendly fire from one of the other soldiers, then glared at Huldar. "I can see why you don't like him. This is the guy you told me about?" Imara nodded, but it went largely unnoticed. "I would have thought he'd be... well, I don't know. Not this little runt, though." He moved nimbly to one side and fired at the second of the guards on his side before finishing his thought. "After we're out of here, I'll introduce you to some guys I know. Then you'll see how pathetic this punk really is."

Huldar returned Amnon's glare with even more intensity. "Who are you calling pathetic, you fat slave? Just how many other slaves did you eat to keep that figure, anyway?" Both men winced instinctively as Imara's foot connected with her second target's sensitive area. The crunch and resulting moan from the victim created a brief lull in the conversation, filled by more crunching as the unfortunate soldier's head was drawn down into Imara's knee, forcing him back up and over onto his back in the underbrush.

"Not slaves," Amnon stated somewhat mildly. "Just stupid, incompetant Imperial scum like you guys." He punctuated the last words with a burst from his rifle, narrowly missing the soldier. His opponent returned fire. Most of the shots missed, but a spreading red stain on Amnon's left thigh showed at least one had hit. Gritting his teeth, he sprayed the area in front of him with blaster bolts, then closed with the guard. Supporting himself on his good leg, he lashed out with his left to break the soldier's knee, then swung the buttstock of the rifle upward in a move strikingly similar to the one Imara had just demonstrated. Amnon stepped down hard on the man's ribs for good measure, then turned to survey the rest of the battle. Imara was just finishing off her own opponent. Huldar, on the other hand, had disappeared.

"Where are you?" Imara roared when she couldn't find him. "Get back here and take what's coming to you!" She thought she heard a soft chuckle from off to one side, but it immediately ceased, leaving only a slight breeze through the leaves and heavy breathing from her and Amnon as the only sounds. "Come fight me face to face, if you're man enough! Or can you only handle children and old women?"

"He's gone," Amnon said simply. He instantly wished he hadn't spoken when he saw her expression. The combination of grief and rage was incredibly unsettling, to say the least. _I'm going to have to teach her to control her emotions before they get her killed._ "We need to get moving before that swine gets a bigger group of friends and DOES decide to come back."

"I can take them. I want that sorry excuse for sentience dead." Her right hand started shaking, so she stowed her blaster and crossed her arms. "I have never hated anyone as much as I hate that pile of scum."

"Then let him live."

Imara shook her head violently, sure she'd heard wrong. "What?"

"Let him live," he repeated slowly. "Think, girl. He ran off with his tail between his legs. It was five armed and armored Imperials against two barely armed former slaves. What do you think that will do to his ego?"

Imara's left eye widened until he thought she would lose that one, too. The she cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. "That makes sense, I guess." She blew out a long sigh. "I don't like it, but it's better than nothing, and," she looked around, "... he's obviously not here anymore."

"Now you're thinking. Let's get away from here and fix us up some." Amnon nodded to the cuts on her face and a deep gash on her right shoulder. She gasped as her mind registered the previously unrecognized injuries. "With any luck, we can be off this rock by the end of the day."

After completing the pre-flight checklist, the pair lifted off the surface of Dromund Kaas just before sunset. The little shuttle's fuel gauge was at slightly more than half, but Amnon assured his passenger that was more than enough to reach their destination. Soon enough, they set down on the far side of the planet's second moon, close to a round, flat ship. Amnon pulled a spacesuit from one of the storage containers, put it on, then addressed Imara.

"This is our stop. You wait here while I go get my spare suit." Before she had a chance to argue, he closed the inner seal on the airlock. She watched as the hatch on the new ship opened to admit the captain, then forcibly reminded herself to breathe when it closed behind him again. Several tense minutes later, he re-emerged with a bundle under one arm. By the time he was back on board the shuttle, most of the color had returned to her knuckles, although the seat still bore distinct impressions where her fingers had dug in.

"Miss me?"

"No, not at all," she managed to joke.

"Ungrateful," he laughed. "You know how to put these things on?"

After about ten minutes of watching her struggle with the suit, he finally reached over and adjusted it, then fastened the clasps. "You act like you've never been in space before."

"Other than the trip over here, I haven't."

"Oh. Well, we're going to fix that." He led the way over to his ship and let her precede him up the stairs to the outer hatch. "I'll give you a tour of the ship later. For now, strap in. We're gonna haul jets."

"Where are we going?"

Amnon looked pensive for a moment before waving vaguely toward the viewscreen. "That way."


	8. Direction

I really have to say it again, don't I? This. Is. Not. My. Story.

Seriously. What happens next is as much a mystery to me as it is to you, or would be if I hadn't heard it already. You'd best get to reading to catch up.

Reviews are always nice too. Imara isn't sure anyone cares enough to listen, and might not tell more stories. :(

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* * *

**DIRECTION**

The contact didn't seem nearly as bad as Amnon had described. For one, he was a full foot shorter, and only about half as wide at the shoulder. The "war wounds" mentioned were just fading pink scars across the nose and cheekbone, and another along the collarbone. Obviously the Aqualish knew how to fight, but he didn't look half as scary as Imara had expected. She remained vigilant, though, just in case his appearance, rather than Amnon's description, was the misleading factor. She tuned back in to the conversation after they had finished the intial posturing, regretting having missed even that. _Who knows what information might come in handy?_

"Rumor had it you were dead, Captain," the large-eyed alien rasped.

"Obviously the rumors weren't true, Aka'ula. Unless you believe in ghosts," the big man replied easily. "Although I'm sure I could find better people to haunt than your ugly face."

"I can see that," observed Aka'ula, nodding a brief greeting to Imara. "Isn't she a little young for you?"

"Do all your thoughts come from between your legs," Imara interjected, "or are you capable of discussing business with a woman?" Seeing Aka'ula's expression as he opened his mouth, she hastily added, "Legitimate business."

The scarred man laughed heartily before answering. "'Legitimate' might be a strong word for this line of work." He turned back to Amnon. "It's about time you found one with something between her ears. She's not after your money, is she?"

"And here I thought you kept up with the news," mocked Amnon. "I lost everything but my skin and my ship four years ago when that damned Hutt turned me over to the Empire. I'd have lost my ship too, but I had decided to take a shuttle down to the planet."

"Lucky you," Aka'ula commented.

"Yeah, lucky me. This kid and I have been watching each others' backs for the past couple years. Good thing too. I don't think I could have taken on five Imperials by myself."

Their contact's eyes widened – no small feat for one of that race - and considered the young woman more carefully. His eyes paused for a moment at the eyepatch before registering the confident stance and steady gaze of her good eye. He cleared his throat and looked over at Amnon.

"What is your... erm, _business partner's_ name?"

"Imara Goodspeed," she informed him with a grand bow.

**_*Flashback*_**

"You have two choices, girl," Amnon explained. "You can stay on with me and learn the trade. You already know the risks. Or... I can drop you off somewhere. You said Balmorra is your homeworld?"

"'Was' is more accurate. Everyone I ever knew is gone, and my home is a pile of rocks. To be honest, I'm not sure if I can handle going back there right now."

"Well, you're welcome to stay on as long as you like. But you're going to have to earn your keep. The droid has done a decent job keeping the place clean, but it's not much of a mechanic. What do you know about starship maintenance?"

"The engine makes the ship go. Hyperdrive makes it go faster," she replied snidely. "Come on, old man. I told you before, I spent my whole life dirtside. I can take a speeder apart and put it back to together in no time, but starships are completely different."

The captain blew out a long sigh and shook his head slowly. "Right. We'll start with the basics. If you do decide to stay, you'll probably be running this ship one day, so you're gonna need to know her inside and out."

"You're not going to sell it?"

Amnon's angry reaction startled her. "Sell my baby? This ship has been my home for almost twenty years. I have put thousands of hours of work into her, and she's saved my sorry butt more times than I can count. There is no WAY," he emphasized the word with a hand slice, "... I'm going to just sell her to some punk so he can tear her apart!" By this time he was nearly shouting.

After Imara recovered from the initial shock of his outburst, the second meaning of his words sank in. "But you plan to give it to me," she said softly. The effect was astounding. His head and shoulders dropped as if someone had turned off the power switch on a droid, and his voice was much quieter when he spoke next.

"I'm getting old, kid. Forty-three, if you want to know. If I survive the next few years and pull off some good jobs, I might be able to save enough to retire somewhere. Point is, this ship will hopefully outlast me, and I'd rather she go to someone I know will take care of her. Even if you decide to stay planetside, you'll be able to get around, and I'll know she's in good hands."

"That's a depressing thought," she muttered loudly enough for him to hear. "I can't imagine this ship without Captain Goodspeed at the controls."

"Take the name with the ship, if you want it," he said almost dismissively. His next words were cut off when he noticed Imara's frown.

"I'm not sure I can do that," she argued. "It feels like it would be betraying my family."

"That's part of this lifestyle, kid. If you keep looking back at the past, you'll lose your mind. You gotta move forward."

"I'll think about it."

"Good enough. Now let's go take a look at the part that 'makes the ship go'."

**_*End flashback*_**

Two jaws dropped as the men digested the surname. Aka'ula was the first to regain his composure.

"You old scoundrel! Why didn't you tell me you had kids?"

"Well..." Amnon rubber the back of his neck uncomfortably, still staring at his "daughter". Once again, Imara stepped in.

"Adopted, more or less. Someone has to take care of the old man, and since he didn't stick around anywhere long enough to have his own children, I got stuck with the job." She snickered at the half-glare, half-smile Amnon directed at her. "That's all beside the point. You said you had some cargo for us. The longer we stand here yakking, the longer it takes us to get there, deliver the goods, and get paid." Neither of the other people in the room missed the elder Goodspeed's proud countenance as she finished speaking.

Aka'ula gestured to ten small boxes stacked against the wall behind him. "You know the routine, Captain. Here's where they're going." He handed Amnon a datapad. "You'll be paid on delivery by the recipient."

"That was easy," remarked Imara as she and Amnon used the first of their earnings from the successful delivery to relax in a cantina on Belsavis. "What do you think was in those boxes?"

"It's usually better not to ask. Personally, I'd rather not know if I'm hauling medical supplies to clean up after a war, or weapons to make things worse. The job is stressful enough as it is without having a crisis of conscience. And we got lucky that time. It's not always that easy."

Imara sat up. "I thought we make our own luck."

"To an extent."

"Fair enough. What's next?"

Amnon paused to think, giving Imara time to scrutinize the serving girls. _They don't _look_ like they're slaves. Maybe Farin was right about the Republic._ A tap on her shoulder brought her attention back to the conversation. "Hm?"

"Maybe we should have him work on your ears while we're at it," he chided.

"Who?"

"You didn't hear a word I said."

"No, I had my mind on something else."

"Well, pay attention. I said I know a guy who can replace your right eye with a cybernetic enhancement. Unless you want to stay half-blind." He dodged the wad of paper she threw at him. "See? That will never work. Anyway, it'll take a couple more jobs to make enough to pay for that along with the fuel and other things we need, but I've delivered enough supplies for him to establish a good working relationship."

"Is it safe?" Imara immediately regretted asking, recognizing the question as foolish.

"Safer than most anything else in this profession, not that that's saying much."

After a moment's hesitation, she shrugged. "Why not? Sounds interesting."

Three deliveries and two near-death experiences later, the pair finally had enough credits to warrant a visit to the biomechanic, Kapeni. After enthusiastic greetings by both men, introductions, and general conversation, the Nautolan finally brought the discussion around to business.

"You told me you didn't want enhancements even if your life depended on it. What changed your mind?"

"It's not for me. Imara here needs a new eye." He had the sense to look sheepish when she shot him an incredulous look. "I never needed anything like that. I promise, Kapeni is the best at what he does."

"That's right," agreed the biomechanic proudly.

"Nobody asked you," Amnon said.

"No, you're just asking me to put this pretty girl under the knife. I know you – you wouldn't do that unless you thought I could do it right. So let's talk specifics. How much hardware are you looking for?

"Just the basics. We're a little low on cash," he admitted.

Kapeni had already moved over in front of Imara and reached up to pull away the patch. He almost got punched for the action, but she managed to pull back her fist at the last instant.

"A little jumpy, are we?" He drew in his breath when he saw the poorly-healed socket and the long scar running across it. "I can see why. I won't ask how you got that, but I think I have just the thing for it."

Kapeni crossed the room to a large rectangular box and pulled out several tools and other odd-looking pieces of metal. Without looking up, he asked Amnon, "So how much is 'a little low'? I figure if we give her a simple image/scanning ocular implant and a blood filtration device, it'll run about 300,000 credits. Anything less than that cyberware, and it's not worth getting anything at all."

"Why do I need a blood filter? My blood is just fine." Imara's brow creased in confusion.

"The main problem with enhancements," Kapeni told her, "is the cyber-biological interface tends to contaminate the bloodstream with the fluids it needs to function properly. Without a filtration device, you'd get sick within a week and probably die. Some cheapskates hook themselves up to a machine to flush their system every few days, but that's inconvenient at the very least."

Amnon nodded. "Sold. Make it 250,000 credits and you have a deal."

The Aqualesh grinned. "You're losing your touch, Goodspeed. I remember when you could have talked me down to half my asking price." He looked back to Imara. "Tell you what. Since he's an old friend, and business is doing well these days, I'll give you the advanced filter. Alcohol, most common poisons and other crud like that – gone within minutes. If you get into _his_ line of work, chances are you'll need it."

It was Imara who nodded this time. "Let's do this."


	9. Detachment

Imara and George would very much appreciate it if you gave them their due credit for this work. I'd be happy with a review.

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* * *

**DETACHMENT**

The end result of the surgery was incredible. The first thing Imara noticed was an odd visual display overlapping her normal vision. The effect was so disorienting she vomited what little was in her stomach. ("Good thing she didn't eat beforehand," Kapeni commented.) There were also two new metal rectangles attached to her forehead – one above each eyebrow.

"That's the neuro-ocular interface junction," the Nautolan attempted to explain. Seeing the blank looks from Imara and Amnon, he translated for himself: "They translate the data from the eye into something a meat-brain can understand. Normally biological organisms and computers don't speak the same language." He moved over to touch one of the buttons on the left interface. "They can also be used to activate secondary functions of the hardware, like active scanning." Both the spacers jumped as a wide red laser shot out and ran over Amnon from head to toe. Imara started again when the cybereye's display showed a digital image of her mentor, highlighting the blasters concealed in his large coat and the knives in each of his boots.

"I hope that's satisfactory. With any luck, the scanner will help keep you out of trouble." Kapeni pointed to the tubing just barely visible above Imara's shirt, which ran down to a port and another tiny panel of controls at the top of her left breast. "And that should help if you wind up in trouble anyway. I don't doubt it'll find you. It always does with your types." Amnon grumbled in mock anger at the slight, but was smiling in spite of himself. Kapeni held up his hands and continued. "The filter is easy enough to clean, although you shouldn't need to more than once every few months – depending on how much you use it, of course." He gave them instructions for maintenance of the cyberware as he walked his guests to the hangar.

"Now I would have liked to install the medical scanner and the self-diagnostic overlay, but I don't work for free. Fortunately, those are primarily software upgrades and shouldn't be nearly as difficult. You come back again when you have the credits, and we'll get to work on that." Hearing the dismissal, the pair made their farewells and headed back to the ship.

* * *

"So where to now?" Imara asked when they were settled on the bridge. "You've got a brilliant plan, right?"

"Of course I do, kid."Amnon replied laconically. He turned his head so she couldn't see his grin at her impatience when he failed to elaborate. Both waited for the other to speak first as they made the pre-flight checks and left the planet. It was nearly an hour later when Imara's curiosity finally got the better of her.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he asked innocently, chewing on the odd-looking lunch the droid had brought.

"What's the plan?" she clarified, irritated at losing this round of a game they had played many times before.

"Get rich and retire. I know I've told you that before. You're not getting senile, are you?" He tried unsuccessfully to dodge the tool she threw at him. "Ouch! At least we know the eye works." He let her retrieve the tool and continue working on the console she had been repairing before speaking again. "We had a call come in while you were..." he gestured to the new implants.

"And?"

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "The job is on Balmorra." Amnon watched carefully as her expression changed from shocked to sad to pensive, then added, "You don't have to go if you don't want to. Part of our job is choosing our own course. Ord Mantell is nearby; there's a friend there you could stay with until I'm done. Maybe we'll swing by Alderaan when this is done."

"What's on Alderaan?"

"If you can get past the idiot nobles and their crazy ideas about owning land and never using it, some of the best mountain ranges in the galaxy. After this job is done, I'll come back and pick you up from Ord Mantell, then we can go there."

"After WE finish this job," Imara corrected, "we can go there. You don't seriously think I'd let you do this job by yourself, do you? Not at your age – you need me, admit it."

Amnon grimaced at the jibe, but otherwise ignored it.

"Are you sure you'll be ok? I don't need you freezing up on me just because you see a familiar rock."

Imara scowled bitterly. "That's all that's left is rocks. Rocks, and some filthy Imperials who need killing."

"Good enough. Just don't shoot our contact."

"Why? Is he Imperial?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Good enough."

Landing on the planet was a little more difficult than either of them had expected, but not for the usual reasons. After slipping into the atmosphere in the shadow of a massive freighter (an impressive feat in itself), the main problem was finding a suitable place to land that was still relatively close to the rendesvous point. While Amnon maneuvered the craft down to the level patch of ground he had spotted, Imara prepped the landspeeder. In short order, they were cruising south toward the newly-formed Republic outpost at Bugtown. Once there, they were greeted warmly by a uniformed Republic officer. Despite his friendly manner, he kept his voice low and frequently looked around for eavesdroppers.

"Welcome to Balmorra, Captain. I am Lieutenant Harith. I'm sorry we couldn't provide a better reception, but supplies are running a bit scarce lately." He started to say something else, but Amnon cut him off.

"Then let's get down to business, Lieutenant. What can we do for you?" Harith noted the plural pronoun and included Imara in the conversation with a nod. She gave him one in return, but showed no other expression.

"Are you familiar with the droid factories not far from here?" he asked quietly. Amnon shook his head, but Imara spoke up.

"The biggest one is about 20 kilometers southwest from here. But they were shut down after they were damaged when the Empire attacked six years ago." Harith was shaking his head before she finished the sentence.

"You're half right. They WERE shut down, but a couple weeks ago someone – I'll give you three guesses who – got them up and running again. Now I'm stuck with a very tough decision: Let them build up a droid army and wipe us all out, or break what remains of the treaty with the Empire. Of course, if someone ELSE were to go and, say... plant a few well-placed explosives, that would solve the problem handily without anything coming back to smear the Republic."

Amnon grinned wickedly. "I can do you one better than that. What if the droids were to go berserk and destroy the facility themselves?"

The Lieutenant nearly doubled over laughing before catching himself and regaining his composure. "I like the way you think, Captain. But can you pull it off?"

The old smuggler put his meaty fists on his hips and faced the officer squarely. "_You_ asked for _us_, Lieutenant. Why would you do that if you didn't have confidence in our abilities?"

"Point taken," Harith said apologetically.

"Thank you. Now let's talk payment. First, I want to make sure the Republic doesn't have any issues with me, my ship, or my crew on record. If we're working together, having your police after us for some past... misunderstanding... wouldn't be a good idea."

"Consider it done. Anything else?"

The two men haggled for a while, but Imara tuned out the rest of it. The view from the doorway was nothing like she remembered. First, the sky was all wrong. There was far too much red and brown in the atmosphere – where did that come from? The water in the nearby river was just as polluted. Obviously the environmental safeguards at the various factories were offline. _Damn the Empire!_ she fumed silently. _They ruin everything they touch. It's bad enough they... _She took a deep breath to steady herself. _No use dwelling on that now. I have a job to do._

Amnon and Harith had just settled on a price when Imara rejoined them.

"You ready to go, kid?" the former asked. His counterpart looked more closely at Imara then.

"Kid? No, no, no. I cannot condone you taking a child with you on this mission. It's far too dangerous."

Expecting Imara to respond with a fist to the Lieutenant's gut, or worse, Amnon quickly stepped between them. "Relax, soldier. She's plenty qualified for the job."

"It's not a matter of..." Harith interrupted.

Amnon held up his hand and continued, "...and she's seen just as much combat as half your boys in there. Now you go take care of your crew, and let me take care of mine." He looked back at his surprisingly calm protegé, wondering why she hadn't started swinging at the insult. _Maybe she's even more grown up than I thought,_ he mused, then set the matter aside and left the building.

Most of the mission passed in a blur for Imara. The pair had no trouble sneaking past the guards posted at various points throughout the facility, and finally made their way into the area where the completed droids were kept. Amnon carefully searched the room for cameras and unfriendly eyes, then deactivated the stealth field. He rubbed his hands together almost gleefully as they approached the first set of droids.

"This should be fun." His mischevious grin was dampened only slightly by Imara's expressionless mask as he showed her how to alter the programming. By the time they had completed the first dozen, her silence was unnerving.

"I thought you said you'd be fine. What's up?"

"Just thinking. Besides, a bunch of talk will attract security, won't it?"

Amnon reluctantly conceded the point and started on the next droid. "I think another ten or so should do the trick. How are things with our friends outside?"

Imara got up and moved noiselessly to the door, carefully cracked it open, and peered out. She watched the troops move around and talk amongst themselves for a minute, unaware of the pair in the next room, and gave her mentor the "all clear" sign. Half an hour later, they were slipping back out the way they came, one grinning madly, the other as emotionless as the droids they had been altering. Outside the facility, Amnon produced a small device and handed it to Imara.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

A small smile penetrated the numbness as Imara pressed the button.

Payment in hand, they left Balmorra and set course for Alderaan for some well-deserved rest and relaxation.

* * *

"Now what are you up to?" Amnon asked when he saw Imara tinkering with the innards of the ship's droid.

"Nothing," she responded as innocently as she could with oil smeared on her hands and face, and various metal parts strewn around the deck of the cargo hold. "I was thinking about that job a few months ago and figured our own droid could use an upgrade."

"Now listen, this is still my ship and my droid, so you keep your little hands out of both of them unless I tell you otherwise. Got it?" He mustered as stern a tone as he could manage. After nearly two years of flying together, Imara had learned to tell when he was actually upset, so she was able to defeat his posturing by tilting her head to one side and smiling.

"Sure thing, boss." She started replacing the pieces into the C2 unit. When she had almost finished the process, she stopped to look for a particular set of fuses. _They must have slid under the workbench._ Failing to find them there either, she called to Amnon, "Hey, have you seen the... I forget what they're called. The little blue things that go in the back of its head."

"Worry about that later, Imara," he yelled back from the communications console. "Close it up and get up here. We've got a call coming in."

[Three days later]

Amnon sighed as C2 inquired for perhaps the fifth time that hour if they needed any refreshments.

"Imara, don't ever touch my droid again."

"Sorry..."

"No worries. We'll get new parts while we're on Nar Shadaa."

"Why are we going there?"

"I have a friend who owes me a favor, and the ship needs some repairs."

"But we've _been_ doing repairs. What's wrong with it?" She looked around as if she expected the hull to buckle right then.

"Nothing, yet. I'd like to keep it that way." He placed one hand lovingly on the bulkhead. "That's the thing people don't get about their ships. If you take good care of them, treat them with love, they'll keep flying long after they should have fallen out of the sky. You take care of her; she'll take care of you. That's how it works."


	10. Destiny

Disclaimer: For the last time, "Businesswoman" is not my property; I only transcribed it. Credit goes to Imara Mathon-Goodspeed, George Lucas, and their respective agents. (No pun intended.)

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* * *

**DESTINY**

_ You take care of her, she'll take care of you; that's how it works. _Those words chased Imara through the rooms and passages of Nar Shadaa as she staggered back to the ship, half-blind from tears and bleeding in a dozen places. _You take care of her..._

_ He _did _take care of me, and I let him down. Farin, Hisani, V'Kram, Amnon... I let them all down. _Through some miracle of instinct and luck, she managed to find her way back to the ship, key in the code for the hatch, and board. Leaning back against the bulkhead as the hatch closed, she slid down to the deck and let the memories of the past few hours wash over her.

* * *

**_*Flashback*_**

"Lefu, you bastard son of a kath hound, get out here!" Amnon bellowed. "What's the big idea making me go through your little games like some stranger?" A tall man – Imara guessed he was Lefu – poked his head around the doorway leading to one of the back rooms of the Slippery Slope. The Twi'lek woman they had been talking to gave the man an apologetic grimace, then turned back to the disruptive visitor. Amnon was forced to deal with her again as the man disappeared back into the room. Fortunately, the Twi'lek's dismissal was cut short as Lefu reemerged and strode up to the big man.

"Amnon Goodspeed? Is that really you? Forgive my rudeness, old friend. One can't be too careful these days, and I haven't seen you in... how long has it been? Five years?"

"Eight," Amnon answered darkly. "Long story short, I got caught and been serving time."

"And you're right back to your old tricks, I see." They both laughed. "Well, come inside, have a drink, and fill me in on the details. Business can wait." This earned the tall man a hard look, but the captain complied, Imara in tow. She waited for the signal to initiate her customary scan for weapons, then realized everyone in the room was probably armed, and everyone else already knew it. A sabacc table over by the far wall caught her eye, surrounded by three humans and a Rodian. After several minutes of being ignored by the two principle businessmen, she made her way over to the table to watch. Seeing her approach, one of the humans – a skinny blond in his mid-twenties – patted his lap suggestively. She simply shook her head and focused on learning the rules of this new game. The others laughed at their friend, then went back to their game. Glancing back at Amnon and Lefu once more, she saw nothing of interest and turned her attention to the table.

"So you need parts for your ship and your droid," Lefu summarized after a half hour of small talk and catching up. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, then met Amnon's eyes again. "I'm sorry, but business hasn't been very good of late. And this favor you're trying to cash in is nearly a decade in the past."

"A deal's a deal, Lefu. Why should it matter how long ago it was made? I don't recall anything about a deadline, do you?"

"True, but I just can't help you. As it is, I have to ask for _your_ help with a little problem I have."

"Name it; I'll see what I can do." The glint in Lefu's eyes unsettled the spacer, causing his gut to churn.

"I was hoping you'd say that. You see, I have several debts that I need to pay off soon. Preferably before my benefactors come looking to take their payment in something other than credits."

Amnon shook his head. "I wish I could help you, pal, but this kid and I are barely making ends meet as it is. I can run a shipment for you, but that's about as much as I can do."

"There is one other option, Goodspeed."

His tone changed that churning feeling to a block of ice.

"The Cartel has a bounty on your head. Actually, it's been out since just after you disappeared. Normally I wouldn't bother, but it's too much for even me to pass up, especially with things being the way they are."

Amnon cocked an eyebrow, wordlessly asking just how much would be enough to cause an old business partner to kill him in cold blood.

"Fifty thousand credits. Half that if I bring you in alive. I guess the Hutts don't want bloodstains on their floors. Funny, considering they normally _like_ to see the target in person if at all possible." Lefu shrugged, his face a mixture of sadness and professional disinterest. "I don't know what you did to piss them off, but I'm doing all I can just to keep a roof over my head. Besides, you've been gone for so long, everyone thinks you're dead anyway. Why complicate things with echoes from the past?" Amnon couldn't help shifting his eyes to see if his ward was in a similar position. To his relief, she was still standing at the table with her back to him, watching the card players. Lefu noticed the movement, looked over at the girl, then back at his target.

"Don't worry about your 'daughter', old man. I promise she will be well taken care of. I owe you that much."

"Not on your life, 'old friend'," spat the captain. As he drew a deep breath, several things happened at once:

...Lefu pulled a blaster pistol from his belt and brought it to bear.

...Imara turned at the acid tone in Amnon's voice.

...The Rodian and one of the humans at the sabacc table drew their own weapons – the man nearest Imara grabbed for her before she could run to aid her adopted father.

...Three more men lounging on the far side of the room stood and reached for their own blasters.

"It's not _my _life you should be concerned with, 'old friend'," Lefu threw the phrase, sarcasm and all, back in Amnon's face. "Anything you want to say before you make me a rich man?" Everyone in the room tensed, expecting to see the old spacer draw a weapon, throw a punch... something. Instead, he slowly let out his breath, drew another, and turned to Imara.

"Captain Goodspeed, take care of the ship. Remember, you take care of her, she'll take care of you. That's how it works." After the first two words, Imara started struggling against the man holding her – the skinny one was stronger than he looked! - using every dirty trick she knew. She finally freed herself by slamming the back of her head into his nose and managed to close more than half the distance to her mentor before Lefu pulled the trigger.

A point blank shot to the throat. No armor in that area, and a very slim chance of surviving.

Imara rushed over to him anyway and did her best to staunch the bleeding. Surprisingly, no one tried to stop her. That worried her more than the bright red blood spurting from the hole in his neck, or the fact that the man who shot him was still standing over them with his pistol in hand. She tore a bandage from her medkit and wrapped it around his neck, but the blood just oozed out from underneath it, adding to the growing puddle beneath him. Finally, when the hand gripping her arm fell slackly to the floor, she pounded on his chest in frustration.

"YOU'RE the captain! Dammit, get up so we can get back to your ship! You said this was a quick stop for parts. There is no WAY I'm going to let you die on such a simple mission!" Each phrase was punctuated by another slam to his chest in a futile effort to restart his heart. She didn't stop until a warm hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her away from the body. The owner of that hand immediately regretted his action when Imara rounded on him, blaster at the ready. Without a word, she delivered the same fate to Lefu he had just bestowed on the late Captain Goodspeed. It took a moment for the others in the room to recover long enough to start shooting. She shrugged off the first few injuries and took down two of the mercenaries from the far side of the room. As the third lined up his next shot, she jumped one of the couches to put a barrier between herself and the sabacc players, flipped her blaster over in her hand, and swung it at the man's head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Hearing a hissed "No, you idiot!", she peeked back over the couch just in time to see the Rodian lob a grenade in her direction, heedless of his comrade's welfare. Imara dove back over the couch and into a volley of blaster bolts as the two remaining humans (the blond was still busy tending his broken nose) opened fire. She growled through the pain of three bolts to the chest, one across her left cheek, and another to the right shin.

Her leap took her farther than intended when the grenade exploded, seemingly years later. The furniture took most of the shrapnel, but several pieces lacerated the back of her head and upper back. A few even made it back to the grenade's point of origin, causing them to shield their faces. The enraged spacer didn't miss the opportunity to loose her own volley at the men crouching behind the overturned table. By some incredible stroke of luck, she hit one squarely between the eyes, but completely missed the other three. She pulled out her own grenade and was about to thumb the fuse ignitor open when one of them called out from behind the table.

"Listen, girl, just give up. There are three of us and only one of you, and if I saw right, you're hurt pretty bad. You were never the target, so there's no sense in getting yourself killed. It won't bring him back to life."

Wrong thing to say. Imara flicked the ignitor and tossed the grenade into the midst of the remaining combatants. The resulting yells told her only two had survived the initial blast. _Not for long. _The thought emerged through the haze in her mind. Staying low to the floor, she moved quickly around the right-hand side of the table and finished the fight with two well-placed shots. She fired a few more shots into the bodies to be sure they were dead, then moved back to where Amnon lay too still on the floor. She strained to lift him up onto her shoulders – leaving him behind just felt wrong after all they had been through together – but the combination of his bulk and her injuries made it impossible. Worse, the adrenaline rush from the battle was starting to recede. Left with no other choice, she gently closed the old man's eyes, then turned and made her way back to the ship.

**_*End flashback*_**

* * *

"Captain Imara Goodspeed, at your service," she told the man on the other end of the holocommunicator. "I heard you needed to have some work done – quietly." By the end of the first year since the Incident, the new captain of the freighter had warmed to her position, striving to master her profession in memory of her friend and mentor. In that time, she had already run a few dozen jobs. The jobs ranged from legitimate interplanetary shipments, to smuggling weapons and spice, to hacking computers. This last was a skill set she had taught herself between contracts, and had saved her skin more than once. Being locked in a vault she had broken into and not had time to vacate before the security system closed the door was not a fate she relished. Besides, stolen information was often more lucrative than stolen goods, if one knew where to look. Her current potential client was counting on just that.

"Captain, what a pleasure to see you! They told me you were one of the best in the business, but they forgot to mention you're beautiful."

Imara sighed inwardly, masking it with a smile. _Why do all these guys think I want to flirt, just because I'm a woman? Still, if it means a bigger payday and referrals, I'll go with it._ "I bet you say that to all the girls," she teased the man – a pudgy human with pale skin. Obviously he didn't spend much time outside his manor, which only emphasized to her that he was either wealthy or desperate enough to pay handsomely for her work – or both.

"Only the ones who deserve it." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Well, as much as I'd love to get to know you better, I'm afraid I only have time to discuss business before I'm missed. We politicians do live under the careful scrutiny of the public, and this is NOT something I wish to become known."

"I can understand that sentiment, Senator. I'm not exactly fond of the idea of my work going public either. Speaking of which..."

The projection raised its hands to forestall the question. "Rest assured I can be equally discreet. There's no sense letting your talents go to waste in a jail cell on Coruscant, especially not since I have even more to lose."

_I somehow doubt that, _she thought, but nodded anyway. "Thank you. So what can I do for you?"

"I need information on my counterpart before the upcoming election. I heard rumors about him accepting bribes from the Empire, so I need you to dig into his records and find indisputable proof. And I need it within two days to have time to set him up for a fall." He briefly described the details of the task. "Can you do that?"

Imara grinned self-assuredly. "Break into a guarded estate, find sensitive information which may or may not exist, get out undetected, and do it all within 48 standard hours. No sweat. Anything else I need to know?"

The senator shook his head. "Like I said, Captain, this whole thing is based on speculation. Of course I'll give you a partial payment just for making the attempt..."

"In advance."

Her contact considered the request for a moment, then conceded with a nod. "In advance. I'm transferring one-fifth of the promised payment to you now. I would normally send more specific information to your ship, but even if I had any I wouldn't risk it being traced. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must get back. One can only use the facilities for so long before others start to worry. Good luck, Captain."

Imara made a face once the projection blinked out. _I really didn't want to know that. I wonder if these rich people all believe everyone cares about everything they do._ She shook her head to clear the thought, then went to the bridge to set course.

Several hours short of the deadline, Imara delivered the requested proof to the senator – it turned out his counterpart was taking bribes from the local crime syndicate, not the Empire, which was almost as good as far as her client was concerned – and returned to her ship with a full payment. No sooner had the hatch closed than the communicator beeped again.

_I wonder what he forgot_, she groaned. To her surprise, the image above the array was not the senator. For one, the call origin was listed as Ord Mantell. Also, this man's smile was genuine, not the plasteel expression used by politicians.

The projection studied her for a moment, his smile gradually falling away into a look of confusion.

"I'm sorry, miss," it said finally. "I must have the wrong frequency."

"Who were you looking for?" she prompted. She had a strong suspicion she already knew the answer.

"Captain Goodspeed. He's a cargo hauler and a good friend of mine. I don't suppose he's around anywhere?" His eyebrows rose in anticipation, but fell again when her expression preceded her verbal answer.

"Amnon isn't here, I'm sorry. Something I can do for you?"

"Depends. Who are you?

"Captain _Imara_ Goodspeed. Amnon was a good friend of mine, too." She paused to let the full meaning of the words sink in, not quite trusting her voice to say them without breaking.

"Was," the man repeated. He digested the news for a moment, leaning forward on something Imara couldn't see. When he straightened again, he was smiling again – his mouth was, anyway. Despite the poor resolution of the image, Imara could have sworn she saw sadness in the man's eyes. It was certainly present in his voice when he spoke next.

"I should have known that roth-sniffer wouldn't last long. It's amazing he lived as long as he did. Who finally did him in?"

By this time, Imara's patience and hospitality had run out. Here was this man grilling her for information on a subject she would just as soon not discuss, and he hadn't even bothered to introduce himself! She set her jaw firmly and proceeded to tell him just that.

"Alright! Alright! I'm sorry! You just caught me off guard is all. The name's Viidu. Goodspeed and I have worked together for... well, probably longer than you've been alive."

Imara laughed in spite of the previously heavy mood. "Now I know you two were friends. I never could get him to stop calling me 'kid'. I'm 22 years old by the standard calendar!"

"Pardon me, O wise and venerable lady," quipped Viidu. In spite of the rough start to the conversation, Imara found herself taking a liking to this stranger. He was so much like Amnon, right down to the hefty build and sharp wit. "Since you're so worldly, perhaps you know what happened to the previous captain of that ship you're standing on." His tone was light, but it wasn't hard to hear the plea underlying the statement. Shaking off the last of her frustration with the earlier dialogue, Imara explained the events on Nar Shadaa.

"Figures Lefu would pull something like that. I never liked that guy. At least he won't bother anyone else, and we have you to thank for that."

"Sure, I guess."

"I mean it." Viidu looked over his shoulder, listened for a few seconds, then said something Imara couldn't hear. "Listen, I wish I could say this was a purely social call, but I need someone to pick up some sensitive cargo for me. Normally I'd ask that old dog to fetch it, but anyone he trusts well enough to train and leave his ship to is good enough for me. I've sent the particulars to your computer. You'll need the droid to decrypt it for you. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"To decrypt it? Not much of a droid, is it?" They both laughed.

"If Amnon took care of the thing, that part should only be a minute or two. It's a week to pick up the cargo and get it here to Ord Mantell. Sorry, but I have other business needing my attention right now. I look foward to meeting you in person."

"See you soon," Imara agreed.

In spite of the mistakes Imara had made when she was tampering with the C2 unit – and still hadn't had time to correct – the droid was able to translate the information within five minutes. Not long after that, Captain Goodspeed was flying back from the dead drop on Tattooine - only accomplished after a long series of identity confirmation tasks - to deliver a shipment of blaster rifles for Rogun the Butcher. _Sounds like a nice guy_, she thought sarcastically. _The sooner this job is done, the better._ After making sure the ship was on the correct course, she headed back to her quarters to complete her log.

_**Personal log (continued), Captain Imara Goodspeed **_

_**[4/12/02 ATC]**_

_... But I guess that's what happens when you're young. Looking back, I think it all worked out for the best, except losing the old man and everyone. I wonder what happened to the ones on Dromund Kaas. Anyway, that annoying droid is chattering about entering orbit around Ord Mantell. One of these days I really need to adjust his programming before I rip out his vocabulator entirely. Thankfully this is my last run for the week, then I can head to Alderaan for some skiing and sightseeing. Hopefully I'll get there before the civil war gets out of hand. I'm sure they'll sort it out eventually, but it's not my problem. I'm not the hero type. I'm just a businesswoman._

_**End log.**_

* * *

...

* * *

A/N: I asked how Imara became a, er... _businesswoman_, and these are the events she recounted to me. From both of us, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the story, great. If it made you look at things a new way, even better. Imara says to you all, "Good fortune."


End file.
